


Time Doesn't Heal Anything

by Spheredrhyme



Category: Psych
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Child Abuse, Depression, Developing Friendships, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Bad At Tagging, Injury, Lassie Whump, Lassie can't catch a break, Major Character Injury, Pain, Self-Harm, Whump, hurt!lassie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-04-16 13:13:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4626546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spheredrhyme/pseuds/Spheredrhyme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I failed you this time, but there won't be a second time." </p><p>Monsters don't sleep under your bed — they sleep inside your head. For Carlton Lassiter, his whole life had been spent fighting his demons alone. How will he react when all of his secrets are exposed?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In this story, Carlton is only a few years older than his sister, rather than "Much, much older" than in the show!  
> The dynamic I wanted between them really worked better if they were closer in age!!  
> Hope you enjoy it!

He sat there, rubbing at the raised lines through his shirt. It'd been a tiring week. Not stressful, exactly, just the opposite in fact. Full of mindless busy work. Weeks like this put Carlton into a fog. His mind worked at its best when he was working towards an end to a problem. But when it was stagnant, unchallenged, he shut off to the world. He usually didn't feel like that in the station. Usually, there was at least one case that needed to be worked. 

Not this week. 

The dullness allowed his mind to wander into the darker depths; places it was usually too busy to recede into. So, he sat there, at his desk, staring and rubbing, He was thinking of his father again. 

His sister’s recent visit had brought memories and feelings that found him in his dreams to the forefront of his mind.

As young as age five, he remembered shielding his sister from their father. He'd never let the man lay a hand on her, going so far as to strike the older man first so as to direct his anger away from her. 

He loved when his sister visited - rarely was he able to see her anymore - but it always drudged the memories back up, and the most recent visit was no exception. He had a nightmare one evening that saw her come flying into his room to wake him. He'd told her it was a normal thing for a police officer. He'd seen enough gruesome things during his career that any number of stressors in his life could set off a nightmare about them. He'd told her not to worry about him, and she'd bought it, albeit reluctant to leave her big brother afterword. 

He couldn't ever tell her, though, aside from his ex-wife, she was the only one who knew that he even had nightmares. Now and then, he'd call her when he'd had a particularly rough night, and she'd always answer the phone, always listen to him. She never pressed him for any details, just allowed him to talk to her about whatever, or, if he didn't feel like talking, she would just talk to him about her life, every detail of her day, until he felt calm again. 

He could never tell her though, never tell her that their father still had that power over him. He wouldn't allow the bastard to get her though. He was still her big brother, and he still had to protect her. 

Throughout his entire life, he'd been coping with the effects of his father's abuse. When he was a child, it was easier to hide the pain of it, because, well, if he showed any, his father would punish him more for being weak. Each weekend, his father would drop him at Old Sonora, and Carlton would beg and plead with Hank not to report anything to the authorities. He knew it would hurt his mother, but moreover, he knew the chances of he and Lauren getting to stay together were slim. He wouldn't be able to protect her if they were split up. 

When he was a teenager, he got angry. The abuse turned into all-out fist-fights. One had even landed Carlton in the hospital with three fractured ribs and a concussion. Of course, he'd only gone to the hospital a few days later when Hank had forced him to. Carlton had told the ER doc that he'd fallen from a horse the previous evening. Whether or not the doc had bought the story was none of Carlton's concern; on his record, he'd fallen from a horse, and that's all that mattered. 

But after his father left, when the abuse stopped, when he should have been free, he sank further into his father's clutches than ever before. It was when Carlton was 16, that's when the nightmares had started. It was as if his mind couldn't function without the abuse. The nightmares started out as replayings of specific events in his past - memories - mostly from when he was younger, and his father had been able to exert more control over him. Ice baths, drinking spoonful’s of bleach, locking him up in a closet for 2 days with nothing to eat or drink, hell, he'd once tire him up in the backyard one week during summer. 

He was in elementary school, his mother was away, and his sister was staying at their aunt's for a while. He'd put a dog collar around Carlton's neck, and chained him to a tree in their backyard. He'd given him a large bowl of water and some scraps, and told him to, "make it last." Every few days, he'd refill the water, and toss food out the backyard. To this day, every time Carlton saw a dog tied up in a yard, he had to force the bile back down his throat. 

Carlton would awaken from these "memories", his breathing hitched, drenched in cold sweat. He'd pace around his room for a while, but eventually he found that going on a run down to the beach would clear his head, often staying at the beach until sunrise before he went home. 

As the years wore on, the nightmares remained, but would wane, occasionally not plaguing him for a month or more at a time. But when he moved out, everything changed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delving into the back story of Carlton in this particular story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for child abuse and domestic abuse, please read with caution

Carlton worked and went to class full-time his first semester. It felt good to be out of the house, and to always be busy. For a while, the nightmares had stopped completely. He was always exhausted, so his mind would just shut down at nights. He didn't have a single problem until winter break.

He was so excited to see his sister when he arrived home. She threw her arms around his neck, and he'd swirled her around. They'd never been away from each other for that long before, and even though they kept in touch, it wasn't at all the same. He'd been her protector her whole life, and there was no one he felt closer to than her. 

She'd dragged him into the living room, sitting beside him on the couch, and they'd talked for hours about everything. His work and school, her current plans for after high school. She went into great detail about the pay she was going to be in for the spring. Though she was only a sophomore, she'd gotten the lead in her school's rendition of Steel Magnolias. 

She was in the middle of telling him - no, ordering him - to come out to see it on its opening night, when there was a knock on the door frame behind them. "Brad!!" Lauren darted up out of her seat and practically flew behind the couch, launching herself at the guy who was standing there. They'd had more than a quick kiss when Carlton had cleared his throat, no-so-subtly reminding his sister that he was, in fact, still in the room. 

"Oh! Brad, this is my brother, Carlton! Carlton, this is Brad!" Carlton stood to shake hands with him, eyeing him carefully. Lauren had never mentioned a boyfriend, not even so much as hinted at one. "Well, we've gotta get going Carlton! I'll be back this evening. Don't wait up!!"

And just like that his sister was gone, out of his sight again. He sighed, going to his duffel to put it away in his room. He took a quick shower, then went about cleaning the house until Lauren Came back. He wasn't going to let her off the hook that easily. He needed to know why she'd not told him. Was the relationship recent, and she'd just not told him yet? Or was there something about the guy she knew Carlton wouldn't like, so she hadn't mentioned him to keep Carlton from worrying?

He ran over every scenario in his head. He felt like he'd been cleaning for hours when he looked at a clock - 0329 h. Holy shit. He immediately started fretting. Another hour passed, and nothing. He went out to his car, and started driving around. Thankfully, they'd taken her car, so he'd at least have something to look for. 

He'd finally found her car after about 30 minutes of driving up and down local streets. It was in front of a row of apartments. "Great" he thought, "they could be in any one of these." He knocked on several doors with no answers, before someone finally opened up. It was an older man, and Carlton felt horrible for disturbing him so late, but he had to find his sister. "I'm extremely sorry for bothering you so late sir, but I'm looking for my sister. Her car is parked outside of the building. Would you happen to know if there's anyone living in the building named Brad? A few years older than me, black hair, a bit shorter than myself?" 

The man looked him over for a moment. "Is he dating your sister, young man?" 

"Yes sir."

The man sighed. "He lives one floor above me, same apartment."

"Thank-you sir--" 

"Son, don't let her stay here." 

"Sir...?" the man had already gone back into his apartment. Carlton felt a lump rise in his throat. He turned and sprinted up the flight of stairs, taking them three at a time, and pounded on the apartment door. 

He heard yelling, and after a moment, bits and pieces of what sounded like an argument. He heard his sister yelling that she was sorry, and then a thud. Carlton began pounding on the door again, harder this time. It opened a small crack, and half of his sisters’ face peered from it. "What're you doing here, Carlton?" her voice was obviously shaking. 

"Taking you home."

"I have my car, Carlton; I'll be home when I'm ready."

"You're coming, now." He practically snarled at her, nothing about this situation was okay with him. She flinched away at his tone, and guilt washed over him. "Lauren, please, please just come out for a moment so we can talk?"

"Uhm... I don't think that--"

"Someone bothering you babe?" The door opened further, revealing Brad, and Carlton watched as his sister stayed half-hidden behind the door. "I might ask her the same question, Brad." Carlton definitely growled that out. He felt how hot his skin was against the chilled air outside. He'd had enough of this bastard. 

"I don't give a fuck scarecrow. Get the hell out of here."

"Brad don't, just--"

"Shut up cunt! I didn't ask you a damned thing!" Brad turned, screaming at Lauren, and Carlton saw the red flash across his vision that people talk about. He flung himself at Brad, intent on beating him within an inch of his life. The sudden attack caught Brad off-guard, but he was bigger than Carlton, and he had him up against a wall in seconds. But Carlton was used to not having the advantage of weight. He used his longer legs to sweep the other man's legs out from under him, and was soon on top of him. He only managed to lay a few solid hits before he was thrown backwards off of him. 

"Carlton stop! Stop!!" Lauren had ripped him off of Brad. She ran to Brad, trying to help him up, "Brad, baby I'm so sorry, are you--" "God, bitch, get the hell off of me!" He shoved her off of him, and she stumbled back a few feet. Carlton felt himself lunging again, only to be stopped by Lauren once again. 

"Carlton, no! Just, just go outside! I'll be there in a second!" She shoved him back, but Carlton wasn't hearing any of it. "There's no way in hell I'm leaving you here with that piece of shit!" He was screaming now, unable to tear his eyes from the bastard who'd dare lay a hand on his sister. Brad looked up at him, smirking as he smeared blood from his mouth across his face with the back of his hand, “You wanna go again, asshole? I'll through your bitch sister in a room where she won't save your ass this time!" 

"Oh you son of a --" 

"Carlton, Christ!!" Lauren was shoving him towards the door, and he could tell she was using every ounce of her strength to keep him from running back into the apartment as she got him close to the door. She finally managed to shove him out the door, and shut the door, just the both of them standing there in the breeze way. He was fuming. "What the hell Lauren?? Of all the stupid, ignorant things you've done - you stay with this guy?! No wonder you didn't fucking tell me about him! Why are you still--" He looked to his sister's face, "Lauren..." he felt his heart clench. The tear tracks flowing from her eyes highlighted the deep purple stemming from her eye that cascaded into an angry bruise covering most of the left half of her face. 

He reached out to her, taking her in his arms, letting her bury her face in his chest. "Lauren, why?" his own voice was shaking now, almost in tears himself. "You don't know him Carlton, he's not like this...." she sobbed into his shoulder, burying herself even further in his embrace. 

"He hit you, Lauren." Carlton tightened his grip on her, needing to protect her now more than ever. "No, no, no, it was an accident. He's had a few drinks tonight. I-I made him angry. It was my fault, really." 

Carlton couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Do you hear yourself right now?" he held her shoulder, her out in front of him so that he could look her in the eyes. "That," he touched her face, "...is never your fault. You are not his punching bag." He searched her eyes for any sign of understanding. 

She sniffed, wiping the wetness from her face. "This isn't how he normally is, Carlton. You...You don't know-"

"Lauren! Wake up! I know him better than you ever will! He's our fucking dad, Lauren! How can you not see that?" He was shaking now, furious at her lack of understanding. "He's not like dad, Carly...he's just, had a rough time of it. He's turning it around though..."

Carlton couldn't do this with her anymore. "You need to come home - now." He grabbed her arm, but she pulled away. "No! Carlton! I'm not a child anymore! You don't need to protect me!" Carlton felt his heart shatter into a thousand pieces. He'd spent his entire life protecting her. Making sure their father never touched her, and now she was protecting a creep exactly like him. 

He didn't know--

He couldn't--

How could she--

He turned away, slowly walking back to his car on auto-pilot. He unlocked it, and got inside, turning on the ignition, ignoring his sister's calls from the balcony as he drove away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know how you think the story is going so far!! 
> 
> And as always, rate and review please!! Leave comments, PM, whatever tickles your fancy!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Carlton's demons are about to show their true faces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this chapter is a little rough, but necessary to understand what Lassie is going through in this story.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR ALCOHOL ABUSE, CHILD ABUSE, RAPE, AND GRAPHIC VIOLENCE
> 
> Please read with caution

When he'd gotten back home, he walked like a zombie back into his room. He sat; empty, on the foot of his bed. He couldn't think straight, just fragments of disjointed thoughts flying across his mind, disappearing in the same instant.

He slid over to his bedside table, pulling out a small footlocker. He set the combo, and popped it pen, pulling out a new bottle of Bacardi Rum. He ripped open the seal and twisted off the cap, ignoring entirely the shot glasses that were also in the box. He put the bottle to his lips, and pulled out a few heavy, burning gulps down his throat. He's started drinking when their dad left, and the nightmares had started. It was never hard for him to get alcohol. He had always looked and acted older than his age, and with his height, most cashiers never questioned it. He always bought a few bottles at a time, and never went to the same store more than one time in the same month.

Carlton had never been a lightweight - something he'd inherited from his father. He'd been sick more than a few times, the alcohol never affected him very quickly, and he would drink too much too fast, never knowing his limits. But eventually, he'd figured out the perfect recipe for calming his nerves.

Tonight, that went out the window.

He made sure he locked his bedroom door, and took the bottle into the bathroom. He didn't turn off the light; he liked to be in the dark, being utterly alone to sort out his thoughts. He was furious, heart broken, concerned - he just wanted to be numb. Every few moments, he'd take another gulp from the bottle, until about an hour had gone by.

And so too, had the bottle.

He didn't remember lying down in the bathtub, but there he was when he awoke, so he assumed he must have at some point. He wasn't sure what time it was, or even if it was still night time. When he tried to get up, he felt an enormous weight pushing down on his chest. He heard a sickeningly familiar laugh, and felt cold water start, filling the space in the tub around him. He immediately felt all the warmth starting to drain from his body, and an all too familiar panic creep over him. He fought again to get out, but nothing, the weight was holding him in place.

"Ya bess nah struggle boy." his body went bone cold as the voice registered in his mind. The voice, brought with it ice that filled the tub around him, burning his skin. Carlton felt his body begin to shiver, and he willed it not to. The more weakness he showed, the colder he would make the water. So, he lay in the ice water, trying to focus on controlling his shaking breaths. But, he came back with more ice anyways, dumping it on top of him. Carlton couldn't suppress the whimper that came out of him. "Oooh, looks like you ain't man enough for this - boy." He laughed that same sickening laugh, "Guess I'll just have to teach you some more!" He felt his head being shoved under the water, the shock of it knocking all the air from his lungs. He flailed manically, desperately trying to breach the surface to at least get one breath.

But he couldn't. He wasn't strong enough.

His body made him take a breath, but inhaled nothing but the frigid water.

He was drowning; sure he was going to die.

Manic laughter filled his ears, as his struggling started to cease.

Just as his body couldn't do it anymore, the weight was released, and he shot out of the water.

He wretched into the toilet, his lungs struggled to breathe while his stomach was emptying its contents. He's just suddenly awoken from his nightmare, thankfully before he'd actually drowned in his own vomit. He slumped over the bowl, unwilling to let himself sink into the floor, knowing another round with the toilet was inevitable. He kept his eyes shit. Everything made him sick; every slight movement he attempted brought with it the looming threat of nausea. He felt disconnected with the rest of his body; he could feel nothing but the nausea and leftover anxiety from the nightmare. He laid his head against the tank, leaning there that way for quite some time without the nausea becoming any worse. He thought he may go ahead and lie down, try and sleep through a bit more of the sickness.

As he went to, though, he heard a shrill scream from beyond the bathroom door. He thought he was hearing things, leftover echoes from his drunken stupor. He continued to ease down, but heard the scream once more, louder, and much more clearly. "Carlton!"

It was Lauren.

He got to his feet as fast as he could, using every ounce of his will power to keep the nausea at bay. He still felt the disconnect with his legs, and stumbled as he made his way across the short length of the bathroom. He fumbled with the doorknob, his ears filled with his sister's screams for him. It was as if he wasn't in control of his body at all; he was just able to see from his eyes, but his body was going to do whatever it was going to do, without any guidance from him.

When he finally got the door open, he fell through it, landing hard onto concrete and broken glass.

This was not his bedroom.

It was the yard from his childhood home, before their dad had left.

He tried and failed to push himself up several times, all the while hearing his sister's screams in his head. But when he'd finally been able to clamber onto his knees, he couldn't see her anywhere. Blood was streaming down onto the concrete, the pools of the slick crimson making his hands slip each time he tried to push himself up further. But each time, he fell, the jagged glass cutting deeper into the gashes on his arms. He was helpless to do anything, but he had to keep trying.

He had to get to her.

Had to protect her.

He heard the sickening laughter again, but it was different, not the same as it was before. Not the slurred, drunken laugh of his father, but more sinister, more...taunting.

He looked all around once more, spotting his sister at last. She was chained up to the tree - no, chained on the tree. She was pressed into it, he naked back exposed to Carlton, and he tried to look away, but his eyes wouldn't listen to him. He took in all the cuts and bruises littering her back, and scrambled even harder to get up and run to her; to crawl if that's what it took. But he was forever slipping, falling into the ever-widening pools beneath him.

"Beautiful bitch, ain't she?" A voice hissed into Carlton's ear, the hot breath making him recoil. There was more cackling, and then a man appeared next to his sister, though his voice remained in Carlton's head. "She could do to be a bit more obedient though." The man's lips never moved, but Carlton knew the wicked thoughts were coming from him. "Let's see if we can't fix that, aye?"

The man turned to his sister, and positioned himself behind her. Her screaming got louder, broken only by sharp gasps of pain accented by choked sobs. Carlton tried to scream, trues to get up, but nothing happened. His body wouldn't respond. He could do nothing but watch, unable to even close his eyes. Forced to watch, and listen to her screams.

He could do nothing. He was powerless to save her. The man continually rammed into his sister, laughter never ceasing.

He felt the hot breath in his ear once more, "See? You can't save her. No matter how hard you try, you can't do a damn thing. You failed, boy, and you will always fail."

The sinister laugh overtook him, and everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that chapter was a bit rough, especially at the end, but I hope you enjoyed it for what it was.
> 
> As always, please review and let me know what you think. Good or bad, there's nothing I don't like to talk about when it comes to stories!
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter focuses on the aftermath of Carlton's night, and the developing feelings he has towards himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay friends, this is the longest and most important chapter thus far.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING FOR CHILD ABUSE, DOMESTIC ABUSE, AND SELF-HARM
> 
> Please exert caution while reading

Carlton had no idea where he was when he jerked awake. His breathing was coming in panicked sobs, and he clasped his hands to his face, supporting his head as he tried to get ahold of himself. When he finally opened his eyes, he found that he was in his bathtub, completely drenched in his own sweat and vomit. The acrid smell was overcoming him, and he scrambled to draw the shower curtain and stand, turning on the hot water, and letting it warm up as he allowed it to run over him with his clothes still on. He had both hands outstretched, steadying himself on the wall.

When the water had finally warmed, he moved to take his clothes off, but the hot water hitting his arms made him cry out in pain. He withdrew his arms into himself, and hissed as they made contact with his shirt. "What the hell..." He fumbled out of the tub, holding himself up on the wall as he made his way to the light switch.

When the light came on, his eyes were not at all ready for the blinding light. He managed to stay pry them slightly open after a few moments, but what he saw in the mirror made him snap them shit again. "No, you're still dreaming. You'll wake up. This isn't real." He waited another few moments, sickness slowly flooding over his body.

He opened his eyes.

He was covered in blood; his arms and torso completely cakes with freshly wetted blood and vomit His stomach lurched, and fresh bile forced its way into his mouth. He tried to make it to the toilet, but only managed falling next to it, slipping in the mess of sickness and blood on the floor. He clambered back into the tub, hauling himself over the side on all fours. He struggles to rip off his clothes, throwing them out of the shower into the rest of the mess.

He stared down at himself. His arms were littered with jagged cuts, running the length of his forearms, all the way up to where his T-shirt sleeves cut off. Horizontal, vertical, diagonal, shallow, deep; some of them overlapping in a sinister matrix. He scrubbed with his hands, ignoring the burning pain it brought. "This isn't real." he thought. He reached for a wash cloth and scoured his arms, fresh blood now seeping from the newly opened wounds, swirling together with the water collected beneath him.

He didn't do this - he couldn't have done this He had no memory of the previous night, only the dreams...and he remembered those perfectly.

"What did I do?"

He couldn't stop the tremors that were wracking his body. He wrapped into himself, making his world as small as possible as he shrank down into the corner of the tub. He let the warm water cascade over him, letting his thoughts fade away.

He sat that way until the water ran cold, and his body was stiff. He slowly stood, turning off the water as he carefully got out of the tub. He tried to avoid stepping on the mess all over the floor. "Ow! Fuck!" Stumbling backwards into the wall, he lifted his foot and pulled out a long shard of glass, He threw it onto the floor, and noticed that the floor was covered in broken glass from the rum bottle. Shards of it all over the floor; and most of them were covered in blood.

He felt a surge of relief, "That explains it!" He thought, "I must've gotten all cut up while I was blacked out." He calmed a bit at the thought, but couldn't shake the unsettled feelings in the back of his mind, as he went to bandage his arms and torso.

He spent the next couple hours cleaning up the mess in the bathroom. When he went to take out the large trash bag he'd filled, he noticed Lauren's car still wasn't there. He wasn't going to go after her. Not yet. He'd give her until the afternoon. He looked at his watch; 1300 h. It had been about nine hours since their fight; he really thought she'd have come home by now.

He was palming at the bandages on his arm on his way back inside. His mother was finally home after her night shift, and he knew she would have to go back to work again soon after she woke up later in the afternoon. He wanted to go ahead and get some lunch and dinner ready for her, so she'd have something to take with her, and he could spend a little time with her while she got ready.

He moved slowly, every bone and muscle in his body aching with the fatigue of a long night. With shaking hands, he filled the coffee pit in the kitchen, banging it against the sink in his agitation. He poured the water into the machine, dumping far too many scoops of grounds into the filter before slamming the lid sown and pushing 'go'.

He stood there, staring at the pot. "Hell is too good a place for that piece of shit." Malicious thoughts crowded in his mind along with feelings of betrayal, heartache, and self-loathing. He wanted to set his concerns aside, but there was no shaking the deep pit in his stomach - about everything. He tightened his grip on the counter, feeling sick again, actually feeling the color drain from his face.

When there was enough coffee in the pot for at least a cup, he yanked it out of its place and poured it, along with a generous amount of cream and sugar, into a mug. He slunk into at chair at the kitchen table, holding the mug in his hands, and allowing the warmth to transfer to his hands.

His arms burned, having rubbed against his bandages all morning. He rubbed against them, pressing his thumb along where the pain was the worst. The pain flared up, and then would go away. The harder he pressed, the more it hurt. He was lost in making the pain flare up, then go numb. Press, ache, numb.

Press, ache, numb.

Each arm, each cut, alternating back and forth. He pushed his sleeves up, getting closer at the bandages - closer to the cuts - pressing harder, and harder. The blood started soaking to the surface but he kept kneading at them, entirely fixated on pattern he'd established.

His head shot up at the sound of the front door quietly closing. He slid his sleeves back down, thankful that he'd chosen a dark hoodie this morning. He took a sip of his coffee then, coming back to his senses. There was a faint sound of sniffing coming from the hallway outside of the kitchen. "Lauren?" He called out, hoping there would be an answer. When none came, he abandoned his coffee to go out into the hallway.

He made his way there just in time to see his sister taking off her coat. He couldn't help the gasp that came from him. She spun around, facing him, tears spilling over her eyes. "Lauren..." he took a few steps towards her, but she staggered back a few steps away from him. "Lauren, I'm so sorry..." He moved closer to her, forcing his legs to move him forwards. She backed further from him, wrapping her arms around her torso. The purple welts on her arms had smack into an unseen wall, forcing a breath from his body in a gasping grunt. She looked down at her arms, then back to him, new tears brimming over her eyelashes as she tried to choke back a sob, turning and running from him.

He ran after her, all weakness of the morning forgotten. She ducked into her room, scrambling into her bathroom, slamming the door behind her. He tried to wrench it open, but she'd locked it. "Lauren! Please let me in!" He was trembling so violently, he could hardly stand, and he knew that it came out in his voice as well. He heard her sobbing on the other side of the door. He felt heavy, his legs threatening to buckle beneath him. He was going to kill the asshole that'd done this to her. He tried the door one more time, slamming his arms against it hard, but it didn't budge. He sank to the floor, sliding down the wall. He sat helpless, listening to her sobs break the silence.

"I'm sorry Lauren." He leaned his head back, resting it against the wall. "I-I just...When I... When he talked to you like tha-" he choked back a sob, drawing his knees up to his chest. "Your whole life I've been- and now I'm not here..."

He wasn't here anymore; he couldn't protect her.

He should have stayed.

Tremors took over him, wracking his hands as he ran them through his hair. It was all his fault. If he'd only been closer, paid more attention.

"Oh God! I'm so sorry!" He began to sob, a swell of pain washing over him, a pain that clawed at his insides, tearing him apart. "It's my fault! I should've- I-I- I'm so sorry!" He wept aloud, burying his head in his arms, drawing completely into himself.

He'd failed.

He'd kept her safe for years, and he went away.

He hated himself. He grabbed his arms, and ground into them, the screaming signals of his nerves pleading him to stop only made him dig in harder. He deserved it. He put her through so much pain. The burning sensations from his arms forced their way into the forefront of his mind, forming a wall that blocked anything else from coming through; and he held on for dear life.

His wall snapped at the click of the bathroom lock. He held back the fresh wave of hurt as he looked at his sister's face. Raw pain glittered in her dark eyes. Carlton would've given anything in that moment to see the teasing laughter that usually lit her eyes. Her nose was swollen, the bridge a deep purple that extended to envelop both eyes. Her chin held a similar mark.

He swallowed hard and bit back the tears threatening to spill out. He did not dare allow himself to look beyond her face, to see what else she'd been made to endure because of him. He pressed a thumb down deep into one of his arms, needing everything to go away. He lowered his head, no longer able to look at her. "I'm sorry..." his voice nothing more than a raspy whisper.

"Carlton." His body gave no sign of having heard her.

"Carlton." He felt her crouch next to him, but still made no move to acknowledge her.

There was a warm, soft hand on his cheek, pressing to turn him to look at her.

"Carly." Her face was right next to his, her eyes peering into him.

"Lauren... I-"

"No, Carlton." She shook her head, "You are not going to apologize for this."

"But if I'd have-"

"No!" Her expression grew hard, then softened into a sad smile. "This isn't your fault." He held her gaze, unable to look away. "Isn't that what you told me?" Her eyes held nothing but love, and Carlton removed his grip from his arm, reaching to her. He traces lightly the outline of the bruise on her chin. She flinched at the touch, but stayed with her eyes locked onto his. He reached upwards, and pushed her hair gently back from her face, revealing the rest of the bruising. "Lulu..." he stood up, pushing himself upward with shaky arms. He put his hands on her shoulders, pulling her to him, and gathered her against his chest. He held onto her as her tears began to fall, her clinging to him. He held her tighter, supporting her as she wept against him.

They stood there, locked together while he let her use him as her rock, and he knew - knew that he would never let this happen again. He'd failed this time, but there wouldn't be a second time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you thought! This was by far my favorite chapter so far. I loved writing the interaction between Carlton and his sister!
> 
> Please review!


	5. Chapter 5

The rest of the Lassiter family holidays were spent in relative peace. Carlton didn't have any more trouble from his mind, and Lauren swore to him that she wouldn't be seeing anymore of Brad, and that she'd call him if he started harassing her. In the end, Carlton was sad to leave them. He had a nagging ache in his stomach at the thought of leaving his sister alone again, but they'd both promised one another that they would keep in closer contact, one or the other of them calling at least once every other day.

It wasn't until a few weeks back at college that things took a turn for the worse.

The nightmares had started back a few weeks into the semester. They'd started as memories of his own past abuse-memories of his father. He's dealt with them much the same as he had when he'd had them before-he'd go on a run around campus, or run down to the beach, coming back calm and collected.

But they soon morphed into visions of a mystery man, torturing his sister. He'd wake up screaming, swimming in a cold sweat. His mind showing him only the most horrific pieces of the scenes he'd only just endured. Visions of her broken, beaten body, strewn before him, unable to move, helpless to do anything but watch. Each night, they steadily grew worse; scenarios ripped straight from the minds of the demented. Somewhere in his life, he'd been placed into hell, and the shadows took up permanent residence in his life; an ever-looming presence that ruled over his life.

He began avoiding sleep, going days at a time before his body forced him to spend even a few hours in the hell of his mind. He was broken. During the day, he had to force his mind off of the relentless images. He was devoid of spirit; in a constant state of exquisite agony. He kept from slipping just by sheer force of will.

By night, the shadows enveloped him, taking over his entire world. He drank, trying to keep the memories at bay while he was awake, but it only succeeded in making him succumb to sleep.

The longest he'd gone without sleep had been four days during spring vacation. His boss had sent him home from work, able to see that he was fading. His nights were getting worse and worse. He couldn't sleep any more, didn't even dare to try. Drinking didn't help him, and no longer even kept the demons away while he was awake.

On the fifth day of no sleep, he'd gone out and bought sleep aids, hoping they would at least force him into a blackened sleep. He'd taken several of them, however many had happened to spill out into his hand.

He'd been unable to awaken from the nightmares that night. It was an endless cycle of scenarios, lopping one after the other. He's seen his sister beaten, tortured, raped, mutilated; her body bloodied and screaming for him to save her. But he could do nothing but watch. He'd willed himself to look away, to close his eyes, but he could not even have that respite. His gaze unwaveringly lay upon the broken body of his sister for the duration of whichever sick fantasy his mind had concocted. He'd torn out of the dream, screaming and wild. He saw nothing but his sister everywhere, everywhere he looked around his room her body lay. He'd run to the bathroom and shut the door, helplessly trying to shake the images in the dark. Without thinking he'd grabbed the straight razor that Hank had given him as a graduation gift, and began slicing away at himself.

Anywhere and everywhere he could reach. He felt the knife drawing across his skin, leaving thin burning lines behind it. The harder he pressed, the deeper the burn went. Soon, the lines began to blur together, his arms culminating in a web of slick and burning. He turned on the light, watching as the red flowed down his pale skin, splashing on the floor. He looked at the old pink and sliver lines, finally fading from the months before, and pulled the razor across them, reveling in the pulling, raw feeling the thicker skin gave as it tore open anew.

He dropped the blade to the floor, leaving a sharp echo behind in Carlton's ear. He was suddenly conscious of the silence in the room, interrupted only by the sound of his blood dripping to the floor. His eyes locked onto the ground beneath him, to the slowly spreading puddles of his blood. He brought his arms to his face and stared at the cuts. Each had its own personality. Each one different, a different pain for a different failure. A wave of hysterical laughter broke through him. He watched himself walk up to the mirror. He ran his bloodied hands through his dark hair, smearing red across his face as he went. He couldn't help another bout of laughter, "Why, Carlton! The red does certainly bring out your eyes!" He chuckled to himself once more, stripping his pants as he turned and headed for the shower.

The laughter felt good, it was the only time since Christmas that he'd remembered laughing. He went about cleaning the blood off of himself, letting the scalding water run down his fresh cuts, relishing the intense surge of sensation that it brought. HE allowed the water to soothe the tension from his body. He stood under the water until it ran cold.

He looked in the mirror again, chuckling as he went about bandaging his arms. He looked like Frankenstein's monster. He couldn't tell where one gash ended and another began in most places. He super glued the deeper of the cuts, and then wrapped gauze tightly around the rest of his forearms, content that he wasn't going to bleed all over his sheets. He threw a hoodie on and went to his bed.

He didn't remember falling asleep.

The next few months followed a similar pattern. When the nightmares became too much, he would self-destruct, going into spirals of drinking and mutilating his arms, which soon devolved into mutilating other parts of himself as well: torso, legs, shoulders; anything he could cover under clothing. He was plainly aware of what he was doing, and how others would judge him, but he didn't care. The pain was the only thing that allowed him to get out of his head; the only thing that granted him any reprieve from the nightmares that plagued him.

And he'd be damned if he was going to take that freedom away from himself.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this chapter finally gets to Carlton as we know and love him, the Head Detective of the SBPD. 
> 
> So far, this was my favorite chapter to write. And I should have the next up in the next few days or so.

For him, there's never been anything else. 

He's smiled, been happy, and laughed alongside everyone else. 

But it was never the same.

For him, there was no person he used to be, no happier time to look back upon. 

This was him. There was nothing more to it than that. 

And he was damn good at being him. Damn good at his job. Damn good at going along. 

He knew, more than anyone, how to keep his head under pressure. In the heat of the moment, there was no one better than him. Everyone knew it, and everyone counted on him. Everyone counted on him to be exactly who he was. 

"Earth to Lassie-frass!!"

Carlton's thoughts snapped back to the present. 

"I saaaaaaaaaaid, EARTH. TO. LASSIE-FRASSSSSSS!!!"

His hands went to his temples, massaging the sudden ache that flared behind them. Of all the times the fake psychic could be bothering him...  
He opened his eyes to see nothing but the younger man's eyes staring right back at his own. "Oh for Christ's sake Spencer!" Carlton shot out of his seat, noting the lack of response the other man had to being suddenly loomed over. 

"Gee, Lassie, not happy to see me today?" He crossed his hands over his heart, "I'm hurt." 

"If you do not have a damn good reason for bothering me today, so help me I'll —”

"You'll what, Lassie? Take a break from your paper work to drag me down to the range, string me up by my thumbs and use me for target practice?" He said it with a smirk, always with the smirk. 

"Yes." Carlton was in no mood today, and he meant it. Spencer faltered slightly, but carried on nonetheless.

"Well, I do have a reason Detective Cranky Pants. The spirits led me here, with a distinct feeling that you and your oh-so-lovely partner would jump at the chance to do some real police work for a change."

"For your information, Spencer, the proper procedure for any and all police work involves filing the proper paperwork to ensure —”

"And the spirits are bored. Come on Lassie, I know you don't buy any of that. At least give yourself the opportunity to hear what the spirits are screaming at me to tell you." 

Carlton sighed, looking to his partner, who'd been listening to their conversation from the very beginning. She looked like a puppy who couldn't sit still for all its excitement. He slid his hand down his face, "Fine, Spencer, what've the 'spirits' got for us?"

————

They'd followed Guster and Spencer to the warehouse where, supposedly, the Shawn had foreseen a large drug bust going down. 

"This is it! This is the place!! Let's lock and load team!" Carlton and the rest of the officers they'd brought with them stayed where they were. Smirking, Carlton addressed the team, "Okay team, the usual procedure. Detective O'Hara and myself will take point, Dobson, you'll take a team around to the other side of the perimeter."

"Ooh ooh ooh Lassie! Where do I go? Want me up front with you and Jules? I can psychically duck and weave around the bad guys!" 

"Oh no, I've got something much better for you Spencer." He grabbed the young man's shoulder, twisting it behind his back and leading him to a squad car, shoving him at a uniform. "Take care of this please." he ordered the other officer, turning back to his own vehicle to prepare for the raid. "Lassie!! You're going to want me in there man!! The spirits are being very insistent!!"

"The spirits can kiss my Head Detective ass." Carlton grumbled under his breath, not turning to acknowledge him. 

He met O'Hara at his car, and she handed him his vest. He shrugged off his jacket, and wished that it was a little bit cooler today; he was already sweating through his undershirt. He went over the schematics in his head while he readied his gear. Low ventilation, one floor with second-floor scaffolding, open plan, one office, and whatever layout the cargo would be arranged in. He hoped it provided enough cover for everyone. 

He finished double-checking his shoulder holster, and strapping on another waist holster, sticking a few extra mags into its band. He never needed them, but they certainly made him feel better to have with him. He looked over to his partner, who'd strapped a holster to her waist as well, making him smile. He'd taught her to always go with an extra weapon, and she'd fought him on it initially, but in the end, she'd accepted his advice, and now brought the extra with her without him needing to remind her. 

"Ready O'Hara?" She nodded at him, smiling as she clicked the safety off on her Beretta.

"Alright everyone, positions!"

He and O'Hara took their side at the front entrance of the warehouse, and waited another few moments before making their way in. 

—

It'd been an excellent bust. Everything went smoothly, no shots fired, and they'd intercepted 100 kilos of Mexican cocaine. As it turned out, the 'psychic' had been right, as much as it killed him to admit it. Carlton shoved the last of the perps into the back of a squad car and slammed the door. He met his partner by Guster's car. 

"Jules, I'm telling you, that wasn't everyone. There was another guy, I saw it!" Spencer seemed in a panic; frantically looking around, as if trying to spot his mystery missing man. 

"Shawn — SHAWN! We cleared the building; there was no one else in there. We got all of them." 

"No, no he's gotta be around somewhere. I'm telling you, the spirits could not be being more clear about this."

Carlton scoffed, "Really Spencer? Then why don't you just get them to tell you where this guy is? Tell them to go search the perimeter or something." 

"It doesn't work that way! Don't you think I'd tell you if I knew exactly where he was?!"

"Honestly, Spencer? No. I don't. I think you'd spend your time grand-standing and making a big scene to play up your fake psychic bullshit, before leading us on a wild-goose chase that inevitably had the police force looking like a bunch of incompetent assholes." Spencer looked actually taken aback. "Well, you're wrong. I wouldn't deliberately put ANY of you in danger." He looked straight into Carlton, no bullshit, and he almost felt bad for him. Honestly, he hadn't meant to snap at him, he had lead them to the biggest bust in the last decade of the SBPD. The heat of the day was getting to him, and the adrenaline was wearing off, and he was uncomfortably hot, sweltering in his vest. 

"Look, Spencer, I'm —”

"Its okay, Lassie, I know you didn't mean it." Sometimes, Carlton felt that Spencer really could read minds. He shut his mouth, and nodded at the other man, and turned to his car. He shrugged off his vest and threw it in his trunk, along with his extra holster. He wanted so badly to get into his car and turn the A/C all the way up. "O'Hara! Let's go! You can take Spencer and Guster's statements back at the station!" She said her good byes to the other two, while he got into the car and cranked up the A/C, taking a short moment to lean back against the headrest and let the air blow over him. 

"Ready to go partner?" O'Hara was in the car, buckling her seatbelt. He nodded, and accelerated out of the parking lot. 

They drove in silence for a few minutes, until they hit the highway. "So that was a crazy bust, huh? I don't know about you, but I needed something to happen! These past weeks have been driving me up the wall!" He cocked an eyebrow at her. "I mean, it’s good! There were no big crimes or anything, but — oh you know what I meant!" She swatted at his arm, and he actually chuckled. "I know what you meant O'Hara."

"Carlton, are you okay?"

"Fine, why?" He was hot, sure, but he wasn't going to die or anything. 

"You're really red, and you're still sweating, are you sure?"

"I'm fine, O'Hara, it's just a hot day out. It happens." He was beginning to get a bit agitated with her probing. He was fine. 

"Okay...you could at least roll up your sleeves, that shirt has got to be —"

"I'm fine, O'Hara. Drop it." He set his eyes on the road, checking all his mirrors. 

"I'm only saying that I don't understand why you won't let yourself be comfortable."

He didn't respond to her. He'd noticed a car in the rearview that he'd been seeing the past 10 minutes, since before they'd even got on the highway. 

"I mean, it's really not that hard of a thing. Even I threw up my hair, and I even changed my shoes, Carlton. You know how I hate changing into my flats midday like that." 

He switched lanes, taking an early exit. The other car followed. 

"What’re you doing? It'll take an extra 20 minutes to get back to the station this way."

"Someone's following us." he stated plainly. 

"What?" Her hands found her gun, and she looked back, "Which one?" 

"Nissan, Silver Altima. About 6 cars back in the right lane." He spent as much time with eyes on the rearview as he did on the road in front of them. 

"What're you going to do?" He saw her expression from the corner or his eye, she was wide-eyed; she knew what he was going to do. 

He took the next left, barely on all four tires. He punched the gas, feeling the adrenaline start up again. The Nissan came skidding around the corner, and he knew a route he could get them turned around on, trapping them in an alley. He took the car through a series of side roads and alleys, whipping around corners, ignoring his partner's squeals of protest as he did so. He knew what he was doing. 

Unfortunately, so did the other car. Carlton couldn't seem to faze them, no matter how fast he went, no matter how hard he took the turns, the kept right up with him. "Damn it, hold on O'Hara — Plan B!"

He threw on his brakes, cranking the wheel all the way around, drifting completely around. 

"Carlton..." O'Hara's voice broke. He knew she wasn't sure about this, but he was. Oh was he ever sure. 

"Hold on partner." He punched it, tires screeching as the car roared forwards. They just barely missed the other car. But they shot right past them, and flew down the road, taking the corner on two wheels. Carlton weaved in and out of lanes, the other cars a blur in his peripherals. He came to a car park, and let his car fly up the ramps to the middle section. 

They parked there and waited. "Yes! Lost 'em! Yes!!" His blood was pumping. It had been way too long since he'd been in a good car chase. 

"You. Are. INSANE! What were you thinking??" O'Hara had finally broken her silence. "We could've died!" 

"Yeah, but we didn't." Her glare did not let up. "Do you really think I would've let you die, O'Hara?" 

"Kinda seemed like you didn't have that in mind for a minute there." All of Carlton's adrenaline faded instantly. She was right. He hadn't been thinking. He could've gotten her killed. She'd be dead, and it would be his fault. 

He put the car back in drive and slowly pulled the car around to the other side of the ramp. He was going to get her back to the station; she'd be for sure safe there. "Are we going back to the station now?" He nodded at her, not taking his eyes off the pavement in front of him. He pulled out of the garage, and they made their way — carefully — back down to the station. 

They'd made it a few blocks, when Carlton noticed a silver Nissan pulled into a parking lot coming up on the right. He quickly turned onto another street, letting out a sigh of relief when the car didn't follow them. "Why did you turn?" 

"The Nissan that was following us was parked up ahead on that street. I don't think they saw us though." Though, he couldn't shake the feeling that they were still being followed. 

They made it back to the station without any incident. "What do you think that was?" 

He shook his head, turning off the ignition, "I'm not sure, did you manage to get the plates?" 

"Bet you ass I did." She smirked at him, and he cracked a grin. "We need to run those right now." She nodded in agreement, and they got out of the car. 'Maybe Spencer was right, maybe there was someone else there. That'd be a pretty big stretch to be just a coincidence.' 

He'd heard it before he was able to get to O'Hara. The unmistakable crack of a gunshot through the air. In one long gait he had her in his arms and was diving behind a squad car in the parking lot. He'd landed hard on his shoulder, and felt it pop with the combined weight of he and his partner's weights falling on it. 

In no time at all, 10 other cops raced out of the station, and they'd apprehended the gunman in no time at all. O'Hara scrambled out of his grip and up to her feet. "Thanks partner, how many times are you gunna save my ass today huh?" She laughed, and he chuckled as well. "You're turn tomorrow, okay?" She laughed harder at his unexpected humor, "Sure thing partner." He pushed himself up off the pavement; stumbling a bit at his right shoulder didn't quite want to support his weight. 'Guess I dislocated it. Damn.' He grabbed his shoulder with his other hand, bracing his body against a car as he shoved it back into place. 

"Shit!" he hissed through clenched teeth. 'That hurt way more than it has before.' 

"Oh my god, Carlton." His partner gasped behind him. "It's alright, "O'Hara, just dislocated my shoulder. It's fine now."

"No, Carlton, oh my god." She rushed to him, "You're bleeding." 

"What?" He looked down to his shoulder, and he felt it. The red was spreading down his shirt, and he realized the wetness he felt running down his torso wasn't sweat. "Shit." The wave of dizziness hit him immediately. He staggered, barely making it to the station steps before he collapsed onto them. He thought he heard O'Hara screaming something, and a few officers in his vision. But he wasn't really sure. Everything was sort of blurry. He heard all the commotion around him, but couldn't make any of it out. It made him dizzy. His head was swimming with information he couldn't make out. He closed his eyes, trying to block out some of it. When he opened them again, someone was slapping his face, yelling down at him. The sky was moving above him. "The hell..." he groaned as the ground he was laying on bumped and shook, and then there was too much going on again. So many people over him, grabbing things and passing them over him, shining things into his eyes. 

"O'Hara..." He tried to talk, but his face was constricted by something over his mouth. He raised his hand to his face, but he was stopped. "Carlton, hey don't panic. You're in an ambulance, you're gunna be fine, alright? Do you hear me?" He nodded. Why did he feel so dizzy... 'It was only a shoulder wound...' The edges of his vision started to go black again, and everything got too overwhelming. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to avoid everything. 

"Carlton. Carlton!" He heard his name being screamed, and the commotion over him increased. 

And then everything was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment and let me know what you thought so far!


	7. Time Doesn't Heal Anything 7

Everything was really hazy. Carlton had to fight with himself just to manage to open his eyes. When he did, everything was white. It made him wish he had kept his eyes shut. "Ughhhh." He felt the groan deep in his chest. What happened? He remembered getting shot, and then Juliet was screaming at him...

"Carlton?" a soft voice called out his name. "Carlton, can you hear me?"

He barely nodded his head, even the slightness of that motion making him tired. His eyes cracked open to look over at his partner, sitting as close as to him as she could be without being on the bed with him. It took him every bit of energy he had, but he managed to bring a shaky hand up to her face; he had to make sure she was real, that he'd kept her safe.

She moved into his hand, and Carlton felt the wetness and warmth of her cheek; she'd been crying.

"Ss'no good cryin' Jules, I—I'm fine." He felt his hand slip from her face, and quiet sob as he drifted away again.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Carlton woke again in the hospital room, still hazy, but more clear than he'd been the last time. Juliet wasn't here anymore, and his stomach lurched. He needed to find her. He pushed himself out of the bed, groaning with the effort. His legs felt unsteady beneath him, but he slowly made his way over to the door of the room, pausing to catch his breath.

"Damn it we're losing her!" There was shouting and commotion in the hallway. He pushed the door open as a blur of people went by, pushing a gurney into the next room.

"Charging, clear!"

He followed as fast as he could into the room.

"Damn it! Charging, clear!"

A faint beep, not followed by another.

"God Damn it!!"

Paddles thrown across the room.

"I'm calling it."

Blood pooling on the floor.

"Time of death, 0652, August 15th."

Shadows climbing the walls.

"Get some orderlies to help you with this, aye? I'm gunna go talk to the rest of them."

Silence piercing his heart.

"Shame, she died saving that other guy. Hope he pulls through."

He tried to go forward, but he couldn't. He couldn't move at all. The shadows weighed him down, the blood was drowning him.

People moved away, and he saw her. Saw her covered in blood — her blood. He'd failed her too. She shouldn't have been protecting him. That's not how this worked. That was his job. He was the one who was supposed to protect her.

He tried to run, to get away, but the shadows turned on him, dragging him into the blood beneath him. Pulled down into a lake of his failure. His body gagged on warm iron, his mind choked on his failure. He felt his lungs fill with blood, felt his soul failing.

He didn't fight it. He deserved it. She was dead and it was his fault.

He let the shadows consume him.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

He woke to the sound of monitors screaming. He was tangled in blankets and wires that he couldn't escape from. He thrashed desperately trying to escape them. He fell to the floor, pain ripping through his shoulder. He managed to crawl to the wall, placing his back against it. He couldn't breathe. He was still choking on blood. He tasted the memory of the iron in his mouth, like hot acid in his throat.

He wasn't at home. He couldn't do what he needed to. He put his hand on his right shoulder and pushed, hard. Pain shot through him, down his arm and back the other way. He pushed down harder, focusing on the pain that filled him. He gagged on his cries, and clutched harder, the unfamiliar pain starting to sink in.

"Carlton!!" His nightmares back to taunt him.

"Hey hey hey, Carlton, calm down." Her voice cut him deeper than he ever could.

He felt warm hands on his arm, "Carlton, look at me. Hey, come on." He wouldn't. He would not let his dreams taunt him like this.

"Hey, come on now." He felt a gentle touch on his cheek. He couldn't help it anymore, he needed to see her. He opened his eyes. His vision was blurry through tears, but he could see her— Could see the color in her face— blonde in her hair not tainted by red streaks.

"There you go, look at me." He felt his arm being drawn away from his shoulder. She put his hand over her heart, still grasped by her own. He felt the gentle beating of her heart under his hand.

"You—you were dead. I saw you. You were bleeding, and they tried — but they couldn't — should've been me— I’m so sorry." He wrapped his arms around himself, embracing the burn from his shoulder with the movement. He wrapped his arms tighter and tighter, soaking in the pain, letting it wrap over him; letting it block out the shadows.

"Carlton, I'm right here, I'm okay!"

"My fault, I should've been the one—"

There was a prick in his arm, and the last thing he saw was his partner's face.

But he didn't know which one was real.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The next time Carlton awoke, it was to the feeling of hot hands touching him, and a distant voice. He remembered the panic earlier, but couldn’t for the life of him remember what it was about. When his eyelids finally fluttered open, they were drawn to his partner, sitting next to him still, after everything. The sound of the heart monitor picked up, and Juliet snapped her gaze up to meet his. Fresh tears ran down her face, and more spilled over behind those.

He tried to say her name, but all that came out was a whisper. She nodded, eyes glistening with unshed tears, and she held tightly onto his hand. He noticed the restraints on his wrists, and she must have seen it too.

"You, ah, you were hurting yourself, the nurse had to sedate you." She was obviously fighting hard to keep from crying more. "You—you tore all your stitches out. You were bleeding a lot. They had to take you back to surgery."

"huh." he managed to reply weakly. He didn't remember any of that. He felt her hand running over his arm, over the raised scars; and the fresh cuts. "Carlton...I—I—"

"No." He got that out alright.

"Carlton...you almost died — twice! You're, you're —"

"I'm what, O'Hara? Pathetic? A failure?"

Her eyes shot open wider, and her jaw fell, "What? No! Why would you think—"

"That's what everyone thinks! It was my job to protect you, and I almost got you killed!" He felt dizzy, his breathing getting harder to control.

"Carlton, what?? Where is this coming from? We're partners! It's not all on you to protect me! This goes both ways!"

The panic set in as it did the night before, and images from his nightmare came flooding across his thoughts. He shut his eyes, trying to block it out. He fought and pulled against the restraints, his heart racing in his throat. He fought desperately, pulling any and every which way he could to try and escape.

"Carlton!"

The hands that gripped his wrists were firm and grounding, almost comforting. He felt the fight draining from his body as he focused on his partner's voice; the one that was with him, soothing and real, competing with the images of her bloody body for his mind's attention. He forced his eyes open, and was confronted with his partner's seaside eyes startled, but sure. She was straddling him, pinning both his arms down. She released her grip when he stopped struggling, but she never took her eyes off his, even as she climbed off the bed. She just kept her hand holding his, and waited.

His breathing was coming in short, ragged gasps, verging on tears, but he fought them back. He couldn't stand the hurt and fear in his partner's eyes, knowing he was the reason it was there. He didn't know what he was feeling. He wasn't happy, he knew that, but this wasn't sadness. He was caught in the middle of a million emotions and he just felt so—empty.

They sat there together; not breaking their gaze with one another, until Carlton finally felt he could breathe without gasping. He was tired, exhausted. He couldn't do this anymore. His own mind was trying to kill him—how is he supposed to fight that? He didn't want to fight it anymore. He just wanted—

"Carlton?" He'd been looking at her, without really looking. He focused on her, trying to focus on her, without focusing on the emotions that were so plain across her face. "Are you okay?"

He was falling apart, and no one could see it.

He smiled, "I'm used to it."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long with an update!! >.

She'd seen everything. Everything about himself he'd managed to keep hidden, even from his ex-wife. When Victoria had first seen parts of the scars, it'd been dark, and he'd been able to convince her it was from a botched escape scenario, and she'd been content with that.

 

Been content not to ask any more questions, not to ask him how he was doing, even when he'd wake up in the middle of the night screaming, running to the bathroom. He'd told her it was a cop thing, and she'd been fine with that. He'd said he was okay, and she went right on believing that. It was part of what drove them apart. How could someone not see? How could someone be so blind to someone they were so intimate with?

 

But not O'Hara. Now that she'd seen, she wouldn't leave him. She didn't press. She didn't ask any questions. But she wouldn't leave him. Over the next few days, he waivered in and out of consciousness, and each time he woke, she was there, holding onto his hand.

 

On the third day, he'd been aware enough to notice the shaking in his hands, and the nausea that wouldn't go away. He’d waken in the middle of the night by the sound of his restraints rattling against the rails of his hospital bed. He was freezing, drenched in sweat. He didn't go back to sleep. "O'Hara." She had fallen asleep in the chair, her arms draped over his legs. She didn't stir. "O'Hara." He tried to yell, but it only came out a harsh rasp. But it was enough to wake her. 

 

"Trashcan." She looked at him, puzzled by his request. "Trashcan. Now." She understood at once, and jumped up, snatching the trashcan by the door. He was fighting back the bile in his throat, and he gave up immediately when she thrust the bin under his face. He retching turned to dry heaves, and his whole body ached with the effort. When his body gave him a moment of peace, Juliet ran out into the hall, and he could barely make her voice out speaking very firmly about something to a nurse.

 

She returned shortly, followed by a nurse, who then proceeded to let his arms out of the restraints. He eyed her as she finished, and he could tell she was hesitant to do it, but when she made eye-contact with Juliet, she huffed and left the room.

 

He stared dully at his partner, and she shrugged, "I told her I wasn't leaving you. I convinced her you'd be more than safe under my watch." She sat down on the bed beside him, pushing his hair out his face. He reclined back in the bed, too tired to register the intimacy of her touch. He tried to get comfortable, with his arms now free, but there wasn't anything he could do.

 

The tremors continued to plague his body, the nausea coming in violent waves. The nurse came back in at one point, and had insisted Carlton wear the nasal oxygen, and he was too weak to refuse it. Juliet continued to sit on the bed next to him when she wasn't running around bringing him various things to make him more comfortable. She drew circles on his back when he was sick, and held him when he was shaking.

 

It had been hours before the nurse finally came in to give him something for the nausea. The shaking kept up, but he could finally at least close his eyes for a moment without needing to puke. Juliet still held him, and he let her.

 

He woke up still in her arms. She’d lain down, and was sleeping beside him. And for a moment, he felt like he could possibly be happy. He stroked her hair, wanting to feel the intimacy that came with the motion; wishing to take away a permanent feeling to hold onto. Because he wasn't sure how long she'd stay.

 

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

"Carlton, this isn't just from the anesthesia."

 

"Oh, so you're a doctor now??"

 

She looked hurt, he shouldn't have snapped at her, but damn it. Why couldn't she just let it go?

 

He hadn't had a drink in 4 days. That was the longest since, well, college. He just needed a drink. There was nothing wrong with that. His drinking had never impeded his work. Maybe, if he just explained, she'd help him out.

 

He had nothing left to loose with her anyways.

 

"I'm sorry. I just..." No. No, no, no. This was wrong. Just get past it.

 

"You what, Carlton?" She sat down on the bed beside him. "What is it?"

 

No. He wouldn't bring her into this. She knew what he did to himself, but she didn't need to know everything. She didn't need to know how deep it went. He would not bring her into this.

 

"Nothing, O'Hara." He wrapped his arms around his middle, leaning back into the pillows. "I'm just tired."

 

"Bullshit." His head popped back off the pillows.

 

"What?" His didn't like the sounds of those kinds of words coming from his partner.

 

"Oh you heard me. Bullshit. Carlton, I've been a detective for four years now. I was a beat cop for six before that. Do you really think I don't know what's going on with you?"

 

He scoffed, "You don't know anything about me."

 

"A week ago I would have said that wasn't true. But damn it Carlton. I'm already over here kicking myself for ignoring all the signs that you weren't okay; for all this time I’ve been your partner but passed off your surly attitude as just you being you. But I'm not an idiot. I know what withdrawal looks like."

 

"Please O'Hara, just leave it. I'll be fine as soon as I get home." He just needed to get out of here. That's all he needed. He needed to get out from under the eyes of all the nurses and doctors — his partner. He couldn't do anything to help himself here. There was no escape.

 

He could tell she wasn't going to drop the subject. "When do I get out of here?"

 

"Oh I don't know Carlton, probably when you're able to go an hour without throwing up anything you've had to eat."

 

"God damn it O'Hara!" He slammed his fist into the railing of the bed. "I fucking get it! Okay??" She jumped off the bed, moving back — away from him. His hands shook in front of him. "Fuck." he tried to make it stop, making fists and holding them close to his body. There was no hiding it though. He was pathetic, all of his weakness was on display for anyone who cared to come have a laugh at him.

 

"Just go. Please."

 

"Carlton..."

 

"Go! Just fucking go!" He couldn't have her here. She already pitied him. He couldn't let her stay long enough for pity to give way to disgust.

 

He could see the tears forming in her eyes, but she straightened herself, and turned and walked out the door.

 

Good. He didn't want her pity.

 

 


End file.
